


Why?

by jackaro



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Goodwin doesn't really know how to have friends, Other, Platonic Relationships, but lazar tries... oh my god does he try, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackaro/pseuds/jackaro
Summary: Lazar comes back from his vacation with a surprise. Goodwin trips over himself trying to deal with it.
Relationships: Lazar & Rex Goodwin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Why?

Dawn is bright over New Domino City, and Rex Goodwin is awake at the crack of it. His day begins with caffeinated floral tea, and a quick mental run-down of his schedule. He slots the various pieces in place as the elevator takes him to the top floor: a meeting here and a press conference there, a salad for lunch, paperwork he’s been putting off. As the doors open and he makes his way to his office, he runs through it again, mulling about a missing piece he can’t pinpoint. There’s something going on today, he knows it... but what?

He opens the door, scanning the familiar space. It’s a clean and gentle room, filled with pastel colours and plants, and a modern-looking rug decorating the floor. It’s emptier than normal, though, and it gives him a hint —— a vague and uncertain one, but a hint all the same.

His brow creases. Goodwin grabs his planner from the top drawer of his desk and flips through the pages, arriving at the current month’s calendar. The pad of his finger skims across the dates until it finds its target, and underlines the feathery handwriting in the margins of today’s date: _Lazar back._

Is that today? Already? Two weeks have passed since he left for his vacation, but it barely feels like a day. (Time passes quickly without someone to do your work for you, he supposes.) Satisfied with his detective skills, Goodwin seats himself and passes the time with phone calls of varying importance. 

He is — to his fortune — in the middle of one of the less important calls when Lazar decides to show himself, gliding to the center of the office and singing out a greeting with his hands behind his back. His body jingles with newly-acquired jewelry. Distracted, Goodwin promises to call back and hangs up the phone. 

“How was it?” is the first thing out of his mouth, by social instinct more than anything else. Lazar twists and turns his feet with happiness he’s failing to conceal; Goodwin can’t help but consider how rumpled his rug is going to look now. “I see you got some souvenirs.” 

“I did!” Lazar’s voice carries its usual lilt, timed with the excited motion of his body. “This isn’t half of the things i picked up for myself. _A-aand...”_

Goodwin’s eyes have already averted back to his desk, and so when something new and heavy-sounding is placed on it, he jumps a little bit. The object in question is a sculpture of a bird, carved of something blue and quartz-like, with thick pools of cloud formed in random spots. The plumage and face are ornately detailed —- definitely that of a falcon, Goodwin realizes, and he blinks. “And...?” he prompts. “What were you going to say?” 

Gesturing brightly, Lazar announces, “I got you something!”, and every running gear in Goodwin’s brain collectively stops. 

Blankly, he stares at the statue — his... present? Is that what this is? — and lets his mouth hang as it struggles to form any meaningful words. Though he knows it’s inappropriate, the reaction that winds up spilling out is a flat and distant, “Why?”. He tries not to notice how Lazar’s face falls. 

“Uh...” There’s an innocent confusion in his eyes, and the jubilant jiving of his body finally quits. “I. I thought you would like it.” 

“Obviously,” he says, although the concept truly baffles him (and it confounds him even further that Lazar is very _right;_ the statue, and the animal it depicts, are both incredibly beautiful.). “But I didn’t ask for a gift.” 

His assistant puffs his cheeks, and a frustrated swell of air blows between his lips. “I believe that would have made it _not a gift._ Do you only get birthday presents when you ask for them, hm?” 

To avoid Lazar’s expression, Goodwin buries his focus in some of the papers on his desk. “That would be the case,” he answers. “If I ever asked.” 

There’s a somber and startled, “Oh,” and the silence that follows it feels heavier than Goodwin understands, punctuated with the scraping sound of his pencil. Lazar remains awkwardly still, ambitions dashed. 

“...Well,” he eventually says, and Goodwin does not look at him, “then congratulations on your miserable birthdays. Either way, like it or not, I got you a gift, and I’m not taking it back. If you don’t want it, you’ll have to throw it out yourself.” 

With that, he stiffly turns on his heel and marches away, presumably to mope in his own space. Goodwin calls, “Suit yourself,” and offers him nothing more. (It hardly matters whether he had more to say; the door is already shut by the time he’s done speaking, and he supposes he won’t be seeing him any time soon.) His day continues on with no further disruption, save for having slightly less space on his desk. 

It is never spoken of again, but the statue stays there long after his death.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I haven't written a proper fic in ages, so I hope you enjoyed it :v


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